He Had
by mossdeep
Summary: He hadn't the slightest thought when he could see her again, but he knew—when he did he would embrace her skin and warmth, he would savor the very fragrance he wished for. [oneshot] DarkPearlshipping—Proton/Clair


She wasn't right. Nothing about her was right. Or at least that's how they thought of it. That, at least, was the best way to picture it, or her, or them. She needed to disappear, she was a hindrance. That happened to be the perfect word—they couldn't picture it, but now they could word it. She caused delay, she made things difficult; and that was exactly what they did not need. And disposing of hindrances was easy.

However, this didn't go precisely as planned, they noted this to be as strenuous as when the kid from NewBark threw a wrench in their plans. _He _wasn't cooperating, so they had to compromise. It didn't happen to be a "compromise," though—more along the lines as threatening. Yes, they seized the one and only he ever cared for, and it felt as if they placed a gun to his head.

It arose not only as a harsh plight in his life, knowledge she hadn't been aware about was shoved down her throat and she choked on it. They were separated, or she was dragged from him, as he turned his head the other way.

"Proton! Proton!" She yelled, her body carried away by savage force. Her voice screeched once again, but he walked in the other direction. "Proton…"

He had no choice, it was in neither of their best interests, nor could he do anything of it, "she will be fine," the words were whispered into his ear.

The young man couldn't help but believe the words of his old colleague, he had to trust. If doing his old partner's bidding kept her safe, he didn't mind—what he did mind was what was going through hers. What did she think of him now? Knowing all of this, what he once did, that his hands might've been soiled with foul deeds.

For her, she felt to be a fool, she could not grasp what he was, what they were. She struggled and kicked at her captors, but she failed in the end; the young woman taken somewhere dark and chained down. Her blue eyes stared into air, emotionless, blank, thinking of him. Was none of it real? Was it all a lie? A dream? Was the person she knew, ceasing to exist?

"I'm mindless," she softly laughed, the sole person in the room. Her head tilted to the side, the clarity of the room blurred and water streaked her cheekbones. "Hah…?" She noticed the warm tears, her cracked lips formed a pained smirk.

* * *

><p>"You have to promise to take care of her well," the green-haired man began with sincerity. "Archer."<p>

"Yes, yes." His once-again superior nodded and lazily waved his hand. "You sound so upset and scared, don't worry," he sniggered. "I won't touch a single hair on that woman's body."

The Rocket in black grit his teeth, he gripped the tip of his hat and angled it to hide his eyes. Archer watched closely with a smile. "She's got you wrapped around her finger well, doesn't she?"

Proton nodded.

"Very well, she'll be in safekeeping."

* * *

><p>Two nights and days went along before Clair had heard a noise, she had thought she was abandoned to die. The footsteps of a man came down the stone hall, she feared it to be the man who caused her falsehood. The blue-haired beauty was afraid to see him, she wasn't prepared. If it were him, what could she say? Where could she start? How would she feel? She still happened to be figuring that out herself.<p>

However, it wasn't Proton. She didn't know who it was, by his outfit he evidently was a part of that awful gang as well. His brown hair and odd face alarmed her, and she was fatigued from lack of food and water for 48 hours. She also could not move well since her ankles and wrists happened to be attached to chains which were fused into the concrete wall. Yet, she straightened herself and looked the strange man dead in the eye, he laughed at her.

"Don't worry missy, I won't hurt you," he sat down in front of her. "You don't know who you've gotten yourself mixed up with."

"I know Proton," she answered hoarsely.

"Hah!" The man snorted. "Do you now? Let me tell you a little story about a young man _I _know."

Clair swallowed and goosebumps flecked across her body. She fully raised her head to view the man. He cracked his neck and scrunched his nose, yawning.

"About 17 or so years ago, this young boy's mother unfortunately died of lung cancer. He was left with his father, who was a sailor in Olivine City. You see, the boy's father was an alcoholic, and after his wife died, the consumption increased. Not really surprising what comes next, right? I'm sure you know."

The young woman breathed in sharply. "The boy wasn't abused, say he wasn't."

"I wish I could, Ms. Gym Leader. Yes, his father would rampage when drunk, which is why the young boy ran away. As far as he could, he ended up in a small place named Mahogany Town. There, he met a young, teenage me, and at the time I was the store clerk in town."

The Team Rocket member licked his dry lips and sighed. Clair blinked fast and continued to study the man. "So he was able to leave his father, that's good. It doesn't mean he, or you, needed to join this dreadful group."

He turned his head to the blue-haired woman and smiled with heartache. "He and I had no choice. When Sir Giovanni and his executives found us, we were in desperate need. Well, at the very least, I was. My shop was going out of business, and my friend… Well he wanted money. He wanted the money to buy his deceased mother a proper gravestone. But as the years dragged on, he slowly lost himself. It all became about money—and he slowly stepped up the ranks to an executive. Where he belongs."

"How dare you say he belongs there, he belongs with me!" She cried at him, attempting to kick her legs.

The grunt stood up, brushed the dirt off his behind and headed for the exit, he stopped, looking at her he began, "Again, don't speak as if you know him. He's back to his old self, he should stay that way."

The man had left and Clair's head hung down, her shoulders quivering. "This isn't right…" she whispered to herself. "Not right."

* * *

><p>It was true, by day he was his old self, but Proton spent his nights sleepless, every thought filled with her. Her eyes, her voice, her body… Was she getting enough sleep? Was she being taken care of well? Was she being fed right? He couldn't help but worry, of course he couldn't show it either. He hadn't cared anymore what she thought of him, all he knew was that she was his home. Team Rocket was not home, it lingered as a memory, but every day the sun crossed over was in the past, it was as if time began when he met her.<p>

The man flexed and stretched his hand, he pondered when he last felt new, when he was happy. He hadn't the slightest thought when he could see her again, but he knew—when he did he would embrace her skin and warmth, he would savor the very fragrance he wished for. Therefore he promised to himself, he would wait… He would explain himself to her; and explain what she meant to him.

* * *

><p>Weeks had passed, Proton worked hard just for the thought of Clair, and Archer said he could go. The young man was ecstatic, but where was his beloved? Ariana gave him a note which had instructions of where to head. As Proton began leaving the building, Archer stopped him, "Oh, and by the way, <em>I did not touch<em> a single hair on your leading lady."

Those words sounded odd to the green-haired executive, but he nodded and continued off without hearing his superior's next words. "You'll be back…"

The instructions on the parchment led him to the hills near MooMoo Farm, the soft grass and fresh air. Proton's eyes scattered every-which-way searching for Clair's blue hair, but he couldn't see her anywhere. He then trudged up a steep hill—arriving at the top his body felt as though the sight and land was maudlin. This was the hill he wanted to rebury his mother.

His feet stepped across the grass slowly, but then stopped near the same instant as his heart. His eyes and head turned down, to an engraved stone in the ground. It was… in every way as he imagined to buy the gravestone for his mother… but it had a different name inscribed on it.

On his knees, he sobbed. He had to. His heart fell through his mouth. It had to. "Clair…"

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p><strong>note: <strong>hi my name is cry and goodbye

_I do not own Pokémon_


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